So I figured starting this up has been far too long overdue.
I've had blogs in the past, which ultimately contained my verbal harassment of ex-girlfriends who turned out to be dating me on the side of other relationships. No, that didn't happen with more than one girlfriend, but yes, it did happen more than once with her.
A little about myself: I'm too trusting. That's what I've been told. I believe I'd like to chalk it up to my ability to see the fair qualities of anyone I meet. Some people are just lonely and need an ear to listen. On more than one occasion, I've been the awkward person listening to some drunk at the bar rattle on how everyone needs to be "donating more blood" and how "we must learn to love ourselves before we're able to love anyone else". I do love myself. And I love everyone else. It's a horribly, wonderful curse.
I'm 23 years old. I feel as though I'm floating through life inconsequentially. I'm worried when winter comes it's going to suck the lifeforce from my pores, trap me in a world of constant darkness, and I'm going to fall into a hole. I have the support of a wonderful family and a great girlfriend. But, I feel a disconnect from it all. I'm a slave to my memories and my emotions, the latter oftentimes stirred up by the former, of course.
Scene:
A five year high school reunion. Over 100 faces from a life that I had started to forget all packed into one half of The Ginger Man in Sono on November the 25th, 2011. Initially, pockets of the old cliques started forming, everyone whispering to themselves how "this is weird". I assured people I had hardly ever spoken to in high school that it "was only weird, because they said it was weird". And then I'd strike up a conversation.
The goal of the night was to ingest more than $50 worth of booze in a two hour span of open bar. I believe we all succeeded to our heart's content. But in the writhing masses, when you're pressed against bodies to let servers with saucers full of drinks squeeze past, there was no where to glance without catching eyes with the vaguely familiar faces of ones' childhood. It was brutally amazing. Awe-inspiring to me, and a wonderful time was seemingly had by all. I refused to talk to those who strived to make my life a pile of shit whilst we were in school. This manifested itself in a "I'm going to walk up to a group, strike up a conversation with just one person, tell a hilarious story or joke, get laughs from everyone present and then ditch those fuckers". That sounds malicious, doesn't it? It may have been. I really just didn't care to talk to some people, and that's the short of it. Did I mention that copious amounts of Gin was involved? No? Well, good, 'cause I actually held myself together rather well.
Whenever you hear someone recount a life they once had in school or in younger years, I feel like there's always some level of regret, no matter how your life turned out. I strive to keep the best memories as the most vibrant in my mind. I think of Starbuck's coffee and walks on the beach. I think of laying in the grass at Tilley Pond, soaking up the sun. I imagine that somewhere deep in my heart that I'm still sitting in a car parked in a driveway that's no longer mine, trying to stay there for just a few minutes more.
I don't think of how I turned and left it all behind for the girlfriend with many boyfriends. I don't think about how I've been trying to get it all back every day since then. I don't think about the painful longing that has sutured itself to my heart valves (or frontal lobe, whichever you feel more comfortable with).
She said,"Recently, I was out drinking with a friend, and this friend and I have a terrible knack for getting FAAAAR too drunk and then recounting our past."
"Well, that seems completely normal."
"We definitely talked about you and me."
"Funnily enough, I was recently recounting those memories myself."
"With who?" she asked.
"Myself."
I didn't speak to anyone I didn't want to. But I spoke to far more familiar faces than I had initially intended.
The issue with my childhood was there was limited physical abuse as far as bullying went. We all discovered the power of words at a very young age. Some were used to tear peoples' worlds apart. Some were used to bring luminous entities together so we could all see them shine. The abuse at the mouths of others was incredibly worse than a beating ever would have been. The abuse everyone felt was one of seclusion. I'm a very tactile-focused person. I strove for physical contact; was very affectionate with my friends. Hence the wrestling team.
Definitely a hugger.
That being said, I still would have preferred the beating. Not because I would have been beaten up, but because most things are resolved after physical conflict. Especially something as insignificant as a schoolyard brawl-- we all could have been best friends (whenever you hear someone recount a story of a fight they had long ago, the end result always seems to contain the combatants realizing their own faults and becoming incredibly close), but our town is one of exclusivity and private roads. There's always a trickle down effect, and we perpetuated what we were learning about the world around us.
But in five short years, all of that changed. For some of us, it took much longer to get over the pettiness of our childish behavior. To become accepting of all, no matter their financial standing, race, sexuality, etc. For some of us, and I'd like to selfishly include myself, this had never been an issue.
I have the capacity to love anyone.
That's my super power.
All this being said, I feel proud to have grown up with the group that I did. If anyone deserves the Most Improved Award, it's us. Our five years out in the world-- higher education, partying and experiencing life-- has created a greater understanding of the fellow man. We've all chilled out a bit and become comfortable in our own skin. People call it "finding yourself", but we've all known who we are. It's just a matter of accepting ourselves. It makes you hungry to meet new faces, see the ones you can't stand to live without, become in touch with your deeper desires. It makes you strive toward the ultimate happiness of creating your own life.
And it makes me feel like my life has been head tossed on its ass. All I know is that I have six months to figure it out. Winter's almost here, but I'm steeling myself for sunny forests and smiling faces. Summer's almost here, too.
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